


The Calm Sea

by KatzRoad



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical Hetalia, Human Characters, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4238280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatzRoad/pseuds/KatzRoad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be just another crossing. From Europe to America. Norway and Denmark didn't expect much from it. But neither of them expected this to happen. In fact, no one aboard expected this to happen.</p>
<p>( Historical, the sinking of the RMS <i>Titanic</i> )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. March 9th, 1912

**Author's Note:**

> Who would’ve thought Denmark and Norway would get me back into writing for Hetalia? Never less, I’d like to thank [yuuago](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yuuago/pseuds/yuuago) for the tips on Norway’s character.

Eventually, sunlight broke through the heavy clouds and warmed Kristiania from its otherwise chilly morning. By noon, the capital was quite comfortable with the change of temperature, as well as the gentle breeze that blew from the south. The change in weather brought more people outside and some even decided to spend their whole day enjoying the balmy conditions. Others however, with previous or soon to be obligations, could only look at the sunshine for a brief moment of appreciation and then press onward with their busy schedules. Norway was one of those people who could only glance at the beautiful day.

Although the change of weather was tempting, the blond ultimately turned back to the stacks of paper that had been gathering on his desk since the early morning. Work needed to be done and he couldn’t let himself get either distracted or behind on it. Besides, if the afternoon shapes up to be like the midday was currently so, Norway will be enjoying the sunshine while having coffee with Denmark. Until then he would just have to push thoughts that encouraged him to slack off aside and stay preoccupied. But he did allow himself to take a break every now and then, when needed of course.

Norway sits his pencil down and scoots his chair back a little to stretch his legs. A soft grunt escapes from his mouth when he feels the joints in his legs pop and he reaches up to massage the crink in his neck that’s been pestering him for quite some time now. Scooting forward again, he reads over his writing carefully and then grabs his pencil when seeing the spelling mistakes he’s made. Luckily there’s not an abundant of mistakes and he owes that to being quicker to catch them. Norway sets his paper down and turns to look outside the window.

The sun is shining, clouds fill the sky with their puffiness, and the sea appears to be as calm as it can be. A gentle breeze flows through the open pane, rustling the thin curtains and then brushes past Norway’s face. He takes in a deep breath and faintly smells the saltiness of the air. He sighs then, leaning back into his chair and closes his eyes. His lips stretch into a little smile.

There’s a firm knock at his door. Norway blinks and remembers this isn’t the front porch of his seaside cottage, but the bureaucratic office he works from when there’s not a prime minister’s hand to shake or attend a queen’s coronation. The blond sits properly and then clears his throat. “Come in,” he says, the smile disappearing from his face.

It’s one of the many, many lackeys that swarm throughout the building, their ages ranging from a chipper eighteen to a weathered fifty-five. The man holding the door to Norway’s office open looks about thirty and the blond vaguely recalls his name to be Sigurd. “Good day sir, I have today’s mail for you.” the lackey informs.

Norway nods in approval and eyes a few letters when they’re dropped on his desk before turning back to the paper he’d been writing previously. He can only write a few more sentences before realising Sigurd is still there, standing quietly before his desk. “Is there something you need…?” Norway wonders.

“No sir, I,” Sigurd sucks in a breath and runs a hand through his chestnut locks. He musters up the courage to look his country in the eye. “Well actually sir, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.” he said.

Norway raises an eyebrow and then sets his pencil aside. “What sort of bad news?” he asks, leaning forward. Whatever it is, it couldn’t be worse than what’s been making the front page these days; China’s emperor stepping down for a new republic, Germany butting heads with England over their respective navies, and recently, using dirigibles to drop bombs in Tripolitania? The blond was impressed with Italy’s initiative in latter. But in his opinion, it was rather excessive firepower for a sandy stretch of the Mediterranean.

“Well, you know how you’re supposed to be making a voyage to New York this upcoming April?” Sigurd waits as the Norwegian nods slowly. “There seems to be a change of plans, unfortunately.” he adds with a nervous smile.

While it’s certainly not the worst news he’s heard, but it’s enough to make Norway frown just a tad. He sighs in annoyance and then crosses his fingers. “What sort of changes?” he asks, cocking his head a little to the right.

Sigurd swallows thickly and Norway rolls his eyes at this. Really, there’s nothing to be nervous about; he’s not going to be terribly upset with a change in his travel plans. Finally the lackey gathers the courage to speak once more. “Unfortunately, the ocean liner you had booked for your passage recently cancelled its voyage.” Sigurd reluctantly admits.

Regrettably, Norway feels his brow crease into a deeper frown. “I see.” he sighs again, hands folding flat against the polished wood of his desk, while the lackey goes on to explain about an engine room fire that was likely the cause of cancellation. The blond drums his fingers along the desktop. “I suppose I won’t be goin’ to New York then.” he concludes in a flat tone.

Sigurd’s eyes widen in shock. “Oh no!” he takes a step forward, his hand flying up. “Oh no, no, sir, I didn’t mean to imply that at all!” the man insists.

He pulls a notepad from his vest and flips through a couple of pages, batting his eyes to Norway once a while until he reaches the page he wants with a soft ‘ah’. “Yes, your voyage on that ship has been cancelled, but we did manage to find another ship. The good news is that this one will be making the crossing to New York in roughly the same time period, so it won’t be too much of a hiccup in your schedule.” Sigurd details.

Norway stares at him for a moment and then shakes his head in approval. “Very well then.” he waves off. The lackey quickly shuffles out of the room, leaving him alone with his writing. Norway can only write a few more sentences before pausing again. He sets his pencil aside and turns to the window.

“Great…” he huffs.

* * *

Peaking around noon, sunshine becomes scarce as clouds begin to crowd much of the sky. There’s a shift in wind; it’s no longer the gentle breeze that wisps the curtains but a blunt gush that makes the trees sway and turn the sea choppy. But it’s not terribly blunt and most people enjoy their afternoon regardless, albeit keeping a close eye on things that might get blown away.

Denmark snatches his napkin just in time before it gets the chance to flutter away. He tucks it underneath his plate and then looks over to Norway, who stirs his coffee slowly. They catch each other for a moment before Norway shifts his sight over toward the whiteness of the table cloth. Denmark raises an eyebrow then, and lowers the hand reaching for the biscuits again. “What’s the matter? Yer more quite than usual.” he asks.

The blond looks up to him and then sighs, easing back into his chair. “Got some bad news at work. There’s been a change of plans; my ship’s been switched.” Norway replies. He watches as a smile stretches across Denmark’s face. It’s that rather goofy smile of his, which makes Norway’s brow crease into a frown once more.

“And that’s it?” Denmark chuckles and crosses his arms. “That happens all the time. Nothin’ to be worked up about.” he chuckles some more – only to be cut off midway when Norway flicks a sugar cube at him.

“I ain’t mad, just annoyed. Told me at the last minute, mind you.” Norway went on. Setting his spoon aside, he takes a sip of his coffee and then relaxes his brow. “But I suppose it’s not that bad. They’ve been promising me that the change in ships will be for the better.” he adds afterwards.

“There ‘ya go, keep lookin’ on the bright side! Yer still goin’ to New York.” Denmark said with a grin. He reaches for the biscuits again and takes a bite out of one. “So do ‘ya need a travel buddy on this new ship yer sailin’ on?” the blond asks while munching.

Norway shakes his head, “I could care less about the ship; as long as I get there smoothly, I’ll be fine.” he insists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On January 1st, 1912, the [Republic of China](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Republic_of_China_\(1912%E2%80%9349\)) was proclaimed. A month later, on February 12th, 1912, [Emperor Puyi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Puyi) abdicated his throne, thus ending the [Qing Dynasty](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qing_dynasty) of China, which then had reigned for almost three hundred years.
> 
> Since the country's unification, [Germany](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/German_Empire) was rapidly establishing itself to be a great power. In addition to its vigorous industrialization, scientific achievements, and the world's strongest army, Germany was rapidly building up its naval fleet, which alarmed the United Kingdom, [whose naval supremacy could be seriously challenged by the Germans](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anglo%E2%80%93German_naval_arms_race).
> 
> On September 29th, 1911, the [Italo-Turkish War](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Italo-Turkish_War) erupted between Italy and the Ottoman Empire over the control of Tripolitania, which Italy had claims to dating back to 1877-1878 , in wake of Turkey's defeat in the Russo-Turkish War. On March 6th, 1912, Italian forces became the first to use airships in war, as dirigibles dropped bombs on Turkish forces encamped at Janzur, from an altitude of 6,000 feet.


	2. April 10th, 1912

Even the most patient men had their limits and Norway felt as though his was running terribly thin. While the boulevards of Paris were nice and the afternoon spent moseying around this little seaside town’s café district had been equally pleasant, he couldn’t more than ready to embark for New York. But whether it was unfortunate coincidence or outright misfortune, the ocean liner his people’s government had booked for him (and promised that the change in ships would be for the best) a month in advance was nowhere to be found. So for the time being, the blond was forced to wait with scores of other equally impatient passengers at the terminal until Lord knew how long. Norway buries his face into his hands for a moment and then sighs in frustration.

Where in the Devil’s name could this ship be? He knew ocean liners weren’t particularly the fastest vessels afloat (well, maybe Cunard’s greyhounds are the exception) but this was ridiculous. This certainly wasn’t making a good impression for him. Drawing his face from his hands, the blond straightens up and then glances around the terminal, taking note on how diverse the crowds are. There are the wealthy of course, with their close friends and servants, but also the immigrants from places like rural Europe and even the Middle East, all of whom who saw America as their final destination.

With another yawn, Denmark slumps against Norway’s shoulder and starts to snore blatantly in his ear. Norway frowns at this and reaches up to pinch his cheek. Immediately the Dane snaps up blinking rapidly and stifling a snort. He rubs his sore cheek and looks down at his peeved friend. “What’cha do that for?” he pouts.

“For usin’ me as a pillow. Y’know drool isn’t fashionable these days.” Norway reaches up and pinches Denmark on the cheek again. The other winces and he quickly swats his friend’s hand from his reddening cheek. He straightens up then, another yawn rumbling deep from his broad chest.

Norway’s face softens as he watches the other yawn. He doesn’t blame Denmark for falling asleep, it’s just something he does after waiting for so long. Furthermore, he’s not upset at the other tagging along to Cherbourg with him; it would be a rather tedious voyage and Norway could use someone like him to make it a bit livelier. Although he still wonders how the blond managed to clear his schedule for such a crossing. Hopefully he won’t be besieged by too much paperwork when they return to Europe.

Denmark looks around; nothing has really changed since he’d first dozed off. He scratches the back of his head and then taps his fingers against his thigh restlessly. “So, does anyone know what time is it now?” he asks around.

Across from him, a man in his late forties reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a sliver pocket watch. He squints at the numbers before stuffing back into his coat again, “Almost six ‘o clock now. Feels like we’ve been waiting here forever doesn’t it?” the man replies with a chuckle.

Beside him a young woman nods in agreement and draws out an exasperated breath. She reaches up to fiddle with her hat briefly before crossing her arms. “Honestly, if I knew it was going to take this long, we would’ve certainly had enough time to sit down at a nice restaurant and have dinner.” the woman huffs.

Of course, even if Denmark didn’t accompanied him, Norway wouldn’t be exactly alone. While it was fashionable these days to bring an entourage of servants whenever one travelled lavishly, only a maid and a manservant were enough to accommodate his needs. Mr. Andersen had worked for Kristiania for nearly two decades now and in that time span Norway has come to see him as more of a close friend, rather than just another manservant on-hire. On the contrary, his and Ms. Johannessen’s acquaintance was only a few weeks old, as she was more or less hired on the spot. But she managed to get herself quite accustomed with both the bond’s expectations and the notion of working alongside your country’s national personification.

“Suppose anyone of you might have a guess on what’s been keepin’ our ship absent?” Norway asks.

Denmark shrugs, “Don’t know for sure. Say, isn’t our ship comin’ from Britain? There’s a coal strike they’ve been wrapping up. Maybe the ship is waitin’ like us for its coal to be delivered.” he suggests.

“Could be true but…” Mr. Andersen shakes his head in disagreement. “Unlikely if you ask me. If I know anything from travelling with the British, like the Germans, they hate to be tardy.” the older man said.

“There’s a chance it could have missed the tides to come into port,” Norway brushes a wayward lock of hair from his eyes. “Happens now ‘n then.” he adds.

Ms. Johannessen nods along, “Oh definitely, I can believe that. Reminds me of the time a friend and I were on a ferry crossing the Øresund; I don’t know why, but for some reason the captain miscalculated the incoming tide and ran straight into a sandbar. It was awful. It took them four hours and two tugs to pull the ship off the sandbar.” she explains.

“’n seein’ how big these ships are gettin’, it’s probably goin’ to take more than a few tugs to get them movin’ again.” Denmark chuckles.

While the other laugh along with Denmark, Norway’s busy rolling up his sleeve to check his watch. He frowns when seeing the time and crosses his arm with a huff. Oh this was certainly not making a good impression for him. Eventually though, after waiting for so long, there’s a noticeable shift in movement from the crowds. People look relieved as they walk by, and more are carrying their luggage with them.

“Looks like our ship has finally arrived in port.” Mr. Andersen smirks.

Denmark rises up with a grunt and then offers his hand to Ms. Johannessen, who accepts gladly. The other two rise as well and follow the pair joining scores of people leaving the building. Outside there were two tenders drawn alongside the pier and the crowd disperses as everyone seeks out their respective vessel. As they board their tender, Norway notices the black letters on the bow, spelling out the name _Nomadic_. It only takes a few minutes before all are on board and with a blast of her whistle, the tender slowly parts from the pier.

The waters were choppy as the _Nomadic_ steams across Cherbourg Harbor. Ms. Johannessen shakes her head and groans softly; the rolling caused by the sea was making her slightly nauseous. Denmark places a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to soothe feeling while he himself was unperturbed from the rolling waters. Likewise, Norway doesn’t feel the slightest bout of sickness from the sea and watches as the pier grows smaller behind them. Mr. Andersen pulls out his pocket watch again to check the time and then looks out to the open waters and evening sky.

“Ah, there it is.” he points smiling.

Everyone looks to where the older man is pointing. Rising from the ocean’s surface was a large, black hull with the prow cutting deep into the water like a knife and the stern sitting graciously in the water. A white, tripled-tiered superstructure stood above the hull and rising even further were four, buff-colored funneled with black tops. Various portholes, deckhouse lights, and windows lit the ship from stem to stern. As the _Nomadic_ drew closer to the massive vessel, the name _Titanic_ could been spelled proudly on its bow.

Denmark whistles in amazement. “Now that’s a leviathan!” he exclaims. Norway tilts his head up to the ocean liner and raises an eyebrow. All right, credit where credit’s due; this certainly was a pleasant surprise after being forced to wait around for so long. But it’s going to take more than just sheer size and scale to win his approval.

Once the two vessels were parallel with each other, passengers and luggage slowly trickled inside. Walking up the gangway Denmark looks up one more time at the ship towering above him before ducking inside the ship’s entrance hall. Two stewards held open a pair of grilled doors, passing through them Denmark was amazed; an elegant room greeted him with its white Jacobean décor and embellished mouldings. Scattered through the room were men and women in their best evening clothes, mingling with their close friends and fellow passengers. Several more could be descending a grand staircase, which a glorious candelabra adorned its central banister.

“Sir?” Ms. Johannessen tugs a little on Denmark’s sleeve and he quickly realizes that he’s going to be an obstacle if he keeps gawking like this. He lets himself be guided away from the splendor that was the ship’s First Class Reception Room, although he does manage to catch a glimpse to where those finely dressed men and women are going; into an even larger room, which he assumes to be the dinning saloon.

Behind the grand staircase were the three elevators and Norway was there to chastise them (re; Denmark) for being late. Apologies were humorously made before attention was turned to the life attendant, whom the Dane notices looks around the same age as Iceland. They ride the elevator two decks up and Denmark waves the boy goodbye once they leave. Another lavish entrance hall greets the group and Denmark is delighted to see that the staircase continues up to this deck as well. They pass several passengers heading in the opposite direction and enter a lengthy corridor lined in tile and white paneling.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for them to read the polished numbers on each stateroom door to find their own. Norway lets out a sigh of relief once he steps inside, walking over to the nearest seat available and sitting down in it. Denmark whistles when seeing how richly appointed their room is and steps over to swipe a finger across their marble vanity. Their luggage is brought in moments later by stewards who quickly leave without a word. Ms. Johannessen steps over to help Denmark out of his coat while Mr. Andersen beings unpacking the Norwegian’s belongings.

“There’s no need for that Henrik.” Norway says while raising a hand. “I can do that myself.” he insists. The older man nods and finishes unpacking the last shirt before stepping away from the suitcase.

“Is there anything you need us to do?” Ms. Johannessen asks. She watches as the blond shakes his head. “No, you’re fine. Thank you Sissel.” he replies with a smile.

“How about ‘ya guys take the rest of the night off?” Denmark injects. The two look at him before turning to Norway, who nods in agreement. “All right then, if you need us, we’ll be in the cabin down the hall.” Ms. Johannessen informs.

With that, they both leave Denmark and Norway alone in the stateroom. The Dane walks over and plops down on one of the beds, bouncing a little to feel how the springs register his weight. He looks over to Norway on the couch and chuckles. “Quite a fine lil’ suite isn’t?” he grins.

“Indeed,” Norway rises from the couch with a grunt and steps over to the other bed. He picks up a pillow and squeezes it a little; wow, they didn’t even skimp on the pillows either. “I must say, it definitely makes up for the long wait.” he says.

“Hell, everythin’ about this ship makes up for all the travel delays we’ve been havin’. I’d say talk about travellin’ first class!” Denmark falls back onto the sheets and sighs in content. “It’s funny really; when we first travelled the seas, all ‘ya needed was a good stack of hay ‘n a warm blanket to consider it first class…” the blond reminisces.

“Well that was a long time ago. A lot has changed since then, mind you. With the way technology’s been progressin’ these days.” Norway reminds, crossing his arms.

Denmark nods a little in agreement and then rises to his feet. He pulls out his suitcase and unlocks it. “Well I think it’s time for m’ to catch some grub. Are ‘ya comin’ along?” he asks while loosening his tie.

“In a minute.” Norway waves off. He walks over to the windows and looks outside.

Now that the sun has slipped underneath the horizon, the sky appears darker than before. In the distance a string of lights denote where Cherbourg lies and Norway could hardly see the pier along with the passenger terminal. The sea glitters underneath the ship’s lights, a tad calmer than it was earlier that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [At end of February 1912, coal miners conducted their first national strike in Britain](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_coal_strike_of_1912). Nearly a million miners participated in the strike, which caused considerable disruption to rail and shipping industries. After 37 days, the strike ended on April 6th, 1912. Unfortunately there wasn’t going to be enough time to get newly mined coal to the docks before _Titanic_ ’s maiden voyage. [To work around this problem, White Star Line would have to take coal from other IMM ships docked in Southampton, putting those ships out of service](http://www.premierexhibitions.com/exhibitions/3/3/titanic-artifact-exhibition/blog/coal-strike-1912-and-titanic). Passengers who had already booked voyage on the now out of service ships had to find a new vessel to travel on, most turning to _Titanic_.
> 
> While the majority of _Titanic_ 's passengers where European, [several passengers were of Arab origins](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Passengers_of_the_RMS_Titanic#Arab_passengers). At the time, many carried identification from the Ottoman Empire that stated they were from Greater Syria which included the modern day countries of Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Palestine, and Syria. [Masabumi Hosono](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Masabumi_Hosono) was the only Japanese passenger on board. [Joseph Philippe Lemercier Laroche](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Philippe_Lemercier_Laroche) was the only known black passenger aboard the ship.
> 
> From 1624 to 1877, Norway’s capital was named **Christiania** , in honor of Denmark’s King [Christian IV](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christian_IV_of_Denmark). Following a spelling reform, the name was changed to _Kristiania_ and from that until 1925, was the name of the capital, which was changed back to **Oslo**.
> 
> Soon after leaving Southampton, England, the _Titanic_ [was involved in a near-collision with another ship](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/0f/f8/50/0ff8504ad7356495743398198ba35ea0.jpg) called the SS _City of New York_. While averting the mishap, it delayed the ship’s arrival to Cherbourg, France by least an hour. Hence why Norway and Denmark were waiting around at the start.
> 
> Denmark and Norway’s stateroom on _Titanic_ is B-75, one of the many luxurious suites on that deck (the most luxurious were the parlor suites forward), while the maid and manservant’s cabin is B-99. Research shows there wasn’t any confirmed real-life passengers booked in these rooms, so they can occupy them.


	3. April 11th, 1912

Norway blinks a couple of times before rising from the sheets with a yawn. He scratches the back of his head, smacking his lips a few times and then looks around the stateroom. Across from him lies Denmark’s bed and it is already been made for the day. But the Dane in question is nowhere to be seen, even if Norway waits a little in expectation that he would appear momentarily. For a moment he wonders where the other is before a hard knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts.

“Come in.” he says with another yawn. The door clicks open and Norway sees it’s not Denmark returning from his adventures on board but instead Henrik, whom smiles as he carries a sliver tray into the room. “Good morning sir, I hope you slept well.” the older man asks.

“Quite. I hardly even noticed the vibrations.” Norway replies. Henrik smiles and walks over to the blond’s bed, setting the tray down in his lap. He lifts the lid and Norway sees a plate of scones, fruit, and jelly spread out before him. “I’m sorry if this isn’t enough, but you’re going to have to dine downstairs for the full breakfast menu.” Henrik informs.

“That’s all right. I’ll be satisfied with this.” Norway thanks. The older man nods and then pours him a cup of coffee before turning around to open the windows. A breeze sweeps through the open pane and Norway sighs in content when it hits his face. “Suppose you know where we’re heading today?” he wonders.

“If I remember correctly,” Henrik ruffles the curtains a little before turning his head to the Norwegian. “We have one more stop before heading out to sea.” he said. He then drifts toward the center of the room, looking for anything that might need a little touch up. “Hope that isn’t an issue with you. You know how travel is these days.” Henrik chuckles.

“As long as there isn’t any hold ups like yesterday, I’ll be ecstatic,” Norway takes a sip of his coffee and reaches for the newspaper rolled beside his plate. He unravels it and then scans a few headlines before flicking his eyes over to Denmark’s empty bed again. “Henrik, do you know where Denmark is?” he asks.

“I’m not sure. I did not see him in the corridor beforehand.” Henrik admits. He narrows his eyes at the mirror hung over the vanity and wipes a smudge away with his thumb. “But not to worry; he’s probably just figuring out the layout of this vessel.” the older man suggests.

Norway nods in agreement. He takes another sip of his coffee, “True. This is quite a large ship isn’t?” he adds. Norway then reaches for a scone and bites into it.

“Oh certainly! I’ve been on many liners before, not on one quite like this.” Henrik said in amazement. “It’s quite a floating palace. Such exquisite interiors; you know that staircase we saw while boarding yesterday? It goes straight up to the boat deck, topped with a dome made of glass and iron.” he describes.

“I also overheard a conversation and apparently, there’s a squash court somewhere below us. Wouldn’t that be fun to have a few games in?” Henrik said.

“Perhaps. It might give me the chance to knock Denmark down a few pegs.” Norway smirks.

The older man chuckles as he straightens the sheets on Denmark’s bed. Wiping his hands, he steps back and scans the stateroom closely. It appears everything is in good condition. Well, better condition, now that he’s gotten through his personal check. “Will there be anything else you need?” Henrik turns to Norway.

Norway shakes his head and the older man nods accordingly. He then leaves the blond be, quietly closing the door behind him. Norway finishes the rest of his plate and coffee before swinging his legs over the bed’s side with a grunt. He rises with another grunt and then walks over to the window. Taking a peek outside, he notices how fair the weather is and tilts his head down to see the wake ripple across the placid ocean.

* * *

It had been a quiet morning at Roche’s Point when suddenly, a series of masts and funnels appeared on the horizon. At first glance a person could have mistaken them for a fleet of steamers making their way into port. But as the masts and funnels drew ever so close to shore, one could see that they were not from a series of vessels, but a single leviathan instead. The large ship continued approaching the shore until it came to a graceful stop off Roche’s Point and its old lighthouse. With the drop of her anchor and a blast from her whistle, the _Titanic_ had arrived at her last port of call, Queenstown in Ireland.

Denmark steps outside and tugs on his jacket a little before glancing around. The Promenade Deck was quite large and expansive, running the full length of A-Deck with the forward half enclosed by windows to prevent spray from the sea hitting passengers. He waves to couple of people lounging in a few deck chairs and then walks over to the railing. His lips curl into a smile as he looks out to the cliffs and crags of the Irish coast, as well as the rolling pastures that are just beyond the tumbling surf. Eventually, the Dane’s eyes fall on the little town straddling the coast, which he spots a fleet of boats sailing from its direction.

As they drew closer to the idle ocean liner, Denmark could see two of them were in fact tenders, no doubt bringing passengers and luggage aboard. He leans over the rail a little to get a better look at one tender easing itself underneath _Titanic_ ’s shadow and then waves to the people crowding the boat’s upper decks. Some do notice him and wave right back, much to the blond’s delight.

“Oh _there_ are you are sir!” Denmark looks over his shoulder to see Sissel darting over to him with a smile. He stands properly and then turns around to meet her smile with one of his own. “’ey there! Am I in trouble or somethin’?” he chuckles.

“No, no, at least to my knowledge.” Sissel says a little out of breath. She pauses for a moment to catch her breath again. “It’s just that Norway has been asking for your whereabouts this morning.” she explains.

“Now don’t tell m’ he’s been makin’ ya run around decks just to find m’!” Denmark chuckles. He pats her on the shoulder and then gestures to the railing. “Well Norway has nothin’ to worry about; I’ve been doin’ fine by m’self, been watchin’ the tenders come in!” he points over the rail.

Sissel looks over the rail and feels the smile on her face make an abrupt exit. Until now she never considered the disparity between _Titanic_ ’s decks and the ocean’s surface. It seemed like a fifty foot drop from where she stood, and that was just her being on the Promenade Deck. For a moment her eyes focus on the ocean sloshing against the ship’s hull, her mind imaging herself falling from such a great height. But the young woman manages to swallow her fear of going overboard and then turns to see the tenders alongside.

“Yes, yes… a great way to spend a morning…” Sissel said slowly, almost detached. She takes a step back from the rail and lace her fingers together in an attempt to regain calmness. She turns away when Denmark raises an eyebrow and eyes her warily. “Um… shall we have a walk toward the bows?” Sissel suddenly suggests.

The Dane opens his mouth to say something but then at the last moment keeps quiet. He takes the other’s suggestion and they both start walking toward the bow with Sissel leading him at first. Their pace slows down eventually, and Denmark offers his arm which Sissel takes accordingly. “So, how was yer mornin’?” he asks to break the silence.

“It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Sissel replies. They pass an elderly couple lounging together in a few deck chairs. Upon seeing the two, the wife whispers into her husband’s ear and then compliments Sissel on her ‘good’ taste in suitors. That makes her blush in embarrassment while Denmark shakes head with a chuckle.

“Well that’s good to hear. I’ve been havin’ a great mornin’ if I say so m’self; got up early, had a few stretches, ate a hearty breakfast. I’ve also been learnin’ the ropes of this ship; port ‘n starboard, bow to stern, where the purser’s office is, that sort of thing.” Denmark lists off.

“Sounds like you had a productive morning. But pardon me, ‘learning the ropes’ you say?” Sissel smirks and then pokes Denmark’s arm. “Shouldn’t an experienced sailor like yourself already knew where port and starboard is?” she giggles.

The walk past the windows pertaining to the First Class Lounge. The curtains are open, letting them both peer into the elegant room where scores of passengers are mingling about with one another. Denmark scratches his head at Sissel’s remark and then shrugs.

“Nothin’ wrong with goin’ over the stuff ‘ya already know. Plus I got to keep m’ old mind sharp. Can’t risk goin’ senile now!” Denmark laughs.

“Right… _right!_ I almost forgot; you’re quite older than you look. In fact, you’re probably the oldest passenger onboard! I hope Copenhagen is giving you a considerable annuity when you retire.” the young woman said with a nod of guarantee.

“But let me ask you; do you ever think about your predicament? What I mean by that is, how does your body react to injuries or even losing a tooth if you don’t age?” Sissel wonders.

Denmark scratches the back of his head before leaving Sissel’s side to open the door to the First Class Entrance. “Confusing isn’t it? I don’t know the answer m’self really. I’d guess it’s just how things are.” he answers while letting her inside first. “At least, that’s how I’ve been going’ with it.” the blond adds while closing the door behind him.

Sissel nods again and then decides not to pursue Denmark anymore on that particular subject. It’s probably something she’ll never truly understand, even if someone did give her a reasonable explanation.

While the pair made their way from the vestibule and into the First Class Entrance proper, Norway was quickly climbing the steps of _Titanic_ ’s fabled Grand Staircase. Upon reaching A-Deck he stood near the landing momentarily before spotting Denmark and Sissel coming from the outside together. He smirks when seeing them and then walks over with his arms crossed. “Almost thought I’d lost you on this floatin’ palace. Thanks for findin’ him in one piece Sissel.” Norway says with a hint of tease towards the Dane.

The young woman nods and then politely eases out of Denmark’s grip. “It was no trouble sir. We had a good time walking back.” Sissel remarks. She smiles at the taller man and turns to Norway. “I’ll leave you gentleman be then. Have a good day.” she beams.

Denmark waves as Sissel goes off on her own, only to yelp when the Norwegian reaches up and gives his cheek a pinch. “What was that for?!” he whines while cooing his reddening face.

You ought to be careful now. The two of you were actin’ a little too close for comfort. Do you want people to think you’re another couple on their honeymoon?” Norway warns with a frown.

“I don’t see a problem with that. We look cute as a couple.” the blond chuckles before Norway pinches his other cheek. Denmark yelps again and then holds his face with both hands. “No need to be so harsh!” he cries.

Norway shakes his head and sighs. He then glances around the room, his frown softening. “Quite an entrance hall, isn’t it?” he comments. Denmark nods in agreement and looks around himself.

Indeed, the room was probably _the_ apex of shipboard elegance, and the Grand Staircase was the crowing jewel of it all. Beaded chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which gave ample lighting that complimented the oak paneling and the banister’s iron grillwork. There was a bronze putti adorning the central banister and above the half-landing a clock was mounted on the wall, surrounded by an intricate wooden carving. A large, oval glass dome dominated the room with its wrought iron and chandelier that hung in the center. Truly, no other place on board captured the magnificence that was First Class.

Norway starts climbing the staircase with Denmark following close behind. The Dane pauses to get a better look at the clock and the woodwork encasing it before meeting the other on the Boat Deck. “So how was yer mornin’?” he questions.

“It was fine. Had breakfast in bed. Talked with Henrik a little.” Norway recalls. He looks over the rail at passengers mingling about and then walks towards the vestibule leading outside. “Seems like you and Sissel were having a grand time together. At least, until I ruined it.” the blond reaches for the door and opens it.

“I swear, ‘ya sound so jealous right now.” Denmark says while stepping out. “Ya know that right?” Norway raises an eyebrow while closing the door behind him.

“You’re bein’ ridiculous. Why would I be jealous?” the Norwegian frowns. He watches as the other shrugs and then sees that goofy grin of his stretch across his face.

“Well, ‘ya do have a history of bein’ rather… peculiar, whenever someone takes interest in m’. Now I’m not _sayin’_ Sissel has the hots for m’ but –” Denmark gets shut up by another pinch to his cheek.

Norway rolls his eyes in annoyance. He walks past the windows to the First Class Gymnasium on his right and the lifeboats on his left. “If your ego was any bigger, you’d capsize the _Titanic_.” he said. Of course, he pretends the flush he feels in his cheeks is caused by something else than Denmark’s instigation.

Walking further along the deck, their drawn to the rail when seeing other passengers waving from it. Peering over the rail they discover the tenders and the little flotilla of crafts were sailing back to Queenstown. It wasn’t long before everyone on deck heard a blast from _Titanic_ ’s whistle, signifying her time in port was over. The anchor was raised soon after and the ocean liner slowly turned itself seaward once more. For those on board, it would be the last glimpse of not only Ireland, but Europe as well.

Denmark and Norway stood top deck and watch as the coast gradually shrunk from sight. “Looks like it’s goin’ to be us old men ‘n the sea again.” Denmark sighs with a hint of melancholy. Norway nods slowly and then turns his sight seaward, where the weather is fair and the ocean welcoming.

Seven days out on the calm sea. This should be quite easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Titanic_ ’s last port of call was Queenstown (now **Cobh** ), Ireland. 113 Third Class and seven Second Class passengers came aboard while seven left. Among the departures was Father [Francis Browne](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CB8QFjAA&url=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FFrancis_Browne&ei=x7qQVbDXCIiXgwTg2YD4Cw&usg=AFQjCNF_WU6dtbdYHtVl3gBvfTy2whcUWQ&bvm=bv.96783405,d.eXY), a Jesuit trainee, who was a keen photographer and took many photographs aboard _Titanic_ , including the last-ever known photograph of the ship.
> 
> _Titanic_ had its own newspaper printed on board called the [_Atlantic Daily Bulletin_](http://i304.photobucket.com/albums/nn172/mesoscribe/TitanicAtlanticDaily_zps581bdf00.gif~original). It provided passengers with the latest news and gossip.
> 
> Ocean liners can experience vibrations from their engines. While the _Olympic_ and the _Titanic_ were noted for their minimum vibration, their Cunard rivals however were not. In fact, the [_Lusitania_](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CB4QFjAAahUKEwi9tJSMh9XHAhWLXpIKHZ_qAvI&url=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FRMS_Lusitania&ei=KzHlVf3yGou9yQSf1YuQDw&usg=AFQjCNErjVjfv_RBg_02Ha6xm2CDYzEMiA) initially experienced vibrations so severely that her Second Class accommodations in the stern were rendered uninhabitable because of it.
> 
> The Promenade Deck was on A Deck and it was exclusively reserved for First Class passengers, with the majority of the First Class public rooms found on this deck. Unlike her sister ship, the forward part of _Titanic_ ’s Promenade Deck was enclosed with retractable windows.
> 
> The intricate wooden craving surrounding the clock on the Grand Staircase depicted a scene called ‘Honor & Glory crowing Time’. While _Titanic_ ’s clock was lost in the sinking, her sister ship’s, the _Olympic_ , [survives to this day](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kmCLfWn1oN8/UDbPpKf835I/AAAAAAAAG6k/-Yj3s0Fzcso/s1600/titanic_olympic_clock.png).


	4. April 12th, 1912

With dawn brought a new day of clear skies and pleasant spring weather. Leaving the Old World behind, _Titanic_ sailed west for the land of opportunity and for the riches that could be made there as well. Her white upper decks gleamed underneath the warm sunlight, her crisp blow sliced through the undulating Atlantic. Smoke belched from three of her mighty funnels while underneath the sea her bronze propellers churned a steady stream of wake that trailed off into the blue horizon. In all, the _Titanic_ was certainly exceeding expectations for a brand new ship making its first oceangoing voyage.

As they would on land, passengers took advantage of the pleasant weather and went about to crowding the open decks. Each class mingled to their respective boundaries; First Class towards the amidships, Second Class a little farther back towards the stern, and Third Class at either the very bow or stern. While the passengers were busy enjoying their first day out on the open sea, _Titanic_ ’s crew had to split their time from catering to the needs of passengers and their shipboard tasks. One crew member in particular – a steward to be precise – received an assignment to deliver a telegraph message to an expectant passenger.

The steward wasted no time snatching the message from his superior’s hand and turned his heels from the Purser’s Office. He quickly climbed the Grand Staircase, leaving C-Deck behind and passing through B-Deck before reaching the A-Deck landing. He did not pause to be swept away by the landing’s elegance and made a brisk walk across the First Class Entrance to the adjoining hallway. From there he pushed through a revolving door and walked pass the door leading into the First Class Reading & Writing Room. The steward paused for a moment to catch his breath and then with a chest swelled in confidence, opened one of the double doors leading into the First Class Lounge.

Inside he found the center of First Class life, accented by the room’s style that made it seem like a royal apartment from Versailles. Carefully and rather diligently, the steward weaved his way through conversations of Anglo-American hegemony, tables and armchairs upholstered in plush velvet green, until he reached the expectant passenger in question. He cleared his throat and then politely tapped on the passenger’s shoulder to catch their attention from the newspaper they were reading.

“Excuse me sir, but telegraph message for you.” the steward informs. He smiles as the other took the message from his hand and thanked him. Quickly as he came into the room, the steward gave a little nod and then left in a similar fashion.

Norway sits his newspaper aside to take a good look at the telegraph message. A smile stretches across his face while he reads; it’s from his younger brother and their neighbors. Both Iceland and Finland wish him a pleasant voyage, Sweden on the other hand informs him of troubling political developments, which makes the blond frown in concern.

“Oh! Taking advantage of the Marconi I see!” Norway flicks his eyes up just time to see an older woman in a flashy blue dress taking the chair across from him. “It’s quite a feat of technology isn’t it? Of course, what isn’t a feat these days!” she happily laughs.

“Oh my dear, I _must_ apologize – I haven’t even introduce myself! I’m Daisy, _Daisy_ Cashmore. It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance Mister…?” Daisy trails off with a smile, waiting for Norway to respond within a few seconds.

Taken back by her fast-talking (his mind immediately assumed she was an American), Norway blinks and then clears his throat accordingly. He raises his hand for her to shake. “Norway. The kingdom of Norway.” he introduces with a bit of hesitance.

It takes a moment for Daisy to understand, but when she does, her chest swells with a silent gasp while her eyes widen as if the blond had bestowed her the largest diamond Tiffany’s could offer. She takes his hand and shakes it, albeit trembling with delightful fear. “You must – you _are_ – one of _those_ fine gentlemen.” Daisy finally says in nothing more than a whisper.

Norway nods, feeling a bit embarrassed. Even after all these years, he still gets trembling handshakes and nervous smiles. “Yes, yes I am. But I do like to keep a low profile. You must understand yes?” Norway asks.

Daisy quickly nods in agreement. “Oh yes, yes, yes! I understand! I won’t tell a soul who you really are.” she promises with a chipper smile. A steward walks over to their table and offers them tea. The older woman quickly shoos him away, despite Norway making a reach for a warm cup.

“Does that mean that handsome gentleman some have seen you conversing with on deck is…?” Daisy smiles even more as Norway nods in conformation. “How extravagant! This voyage has certainly brought the best of high society together!” she comments.

“But you won’t find Denmark or I prominent in that high society.” Norway says while opening his newspaper again. For him in particular, those type of people were more or less of the opposite company he likes to enjoy. The high society Daisy spoke with such nonchalance was better suited to someone like France, who knew the elite waltz right down to the last note.

“Denmark, so that’s his name now… well, I’m not surprised really. Being an absolute dear to your sweetheart doesn’t leave you much time to mingle with peers.” the older woman said with a nod.

Norway lower his newspaper and raises an eyebrow, “Sweetheart?” he scoffs.

“Oh yes, they do make a lovely couple. I think the Straus saw them yesterday on the Promenade Deck. Such beautiful girl; Ida was right, she certainly does have a good taste in suitors.” Daisy explains.

Norway blinks a couple of times, feeling a frown itch on his brow but refrains from looking annoyed. Instead he gives a slow nod before turning back to his newspaper. “My dear you’ve gone blanch, is everything all right?” he looks back at Daisy and shakes his head in assurance.

“I see. Well I do apologize, I must wrap up our little chat. The Ryersons and I are going to have a walk along the decks. Good day to you.” Daisy smiles.

The blond waves her goodbye and goes back to the article he had been reading before meeting Ms. Cashmore. He can only read a few more paragraphs before setting it down again, his frown finally coming out. Oh, he _knew_ this sort of thing was bound to happen! Norway shouldn’t be this annoyed but for some reason he unfortunately is. Rising from his seat, he bids a steward goodbye before leaving the lounge.

He walks down the hall, pushing through the revolving door and across the entrance hall then goes up the staircase. Norway turns right and slips through the vestibule that connects the room to not only the Boat Deck outside but also the First Class Gymnasium adjoining it. He steps inside and finds the narrow white-painted, dark paneled room dominated by men and their chivalrous masculinity. The blond moves past men exercising with the latest shipboard equipment, his attention turning to a crowd that has gathered near the center of the room. Norway squeezes his way toward the front to see what’s happening.

Denmark keeps a steady breath as he paces himself on the rowing machine. He works without his jacket, the waistcoat underneath more or less helping to enunciate the strength of the muscles in his arms and chest. There’s little sweat on his brow but there is determination in his eyes, and like everyone else Norway is swept up watching him exercise. It’s only when a hearty laugh from the one of the men aside Denmark does the blond snap out of the trance and remember what he’s here for.

The man who laughed was a short, robust man dressed in white flannels and plimsolls. His most striking feature was the superb mustache that graced his upper lip. As the Dane rose to his feet, he step forward and gave his back a firm pat. “I say, that is quite a remarkable display of rowing I’ve seen in a while.” he compliments.

“Thanks Mr. McCawley!” Denmark chuckles. He takes a moment to shrug back into his jacket. “Ya know when I was younger, I could row across the Øresund ‘n back if I wanted to…” he boats while a charming smile.

“Aye, wish we had a Dane on our rowing team. Certainly would’ve give the boys from Oxford a run for their money.” A man comments before taking a puff of his pipe.

Praise aside, Denmark glances around and quickly spots Norway among the crowd. With a big smile he steps over to greet him. “There 'ya are friend!” he beams.

“So _this_ is your elusive friend, eh?” Norway feels a dozen or so eyes fall on him, along with the murmurs and whispers too. He adjusts his collar a tad and then clears his throat.

“Excuse me,” Norway turns when there’s a hand on his shoulder. A man with chestnut hair and dashing Italian couture tries charming him with a smile. “Albert Smith, President of the New London Yachtsmen Club in Connecticut.” he introduces.

“Your friend over here says you’re one the finest swimmers in Scandinavia.” Albert said.

“He sure is!” Denmark injects bluntly. “Won races all over the place!” he adds chuckling.

Albert shakes his head, laughter quiet from his lips. “Ah, I see. I hope your friend wouldn’t mind I challenge him to a little race then? I’d like to go toe to toe with this Nordic champion.” he proposes.

“Of course! He’s no stranger to a friendly race aren’t cha buddy?” Denmark slaps Norway on the back with another chuckle.

“Always up for a challenge. I love that. So what do you say friend? I can have the swimming bath reserved for us tomorrow.” Albert asks, turning to Norway.

The blond looks at Denmark and then to Albert. Honestly, he’s been completely caught off guard by these sudden arrangements made without his permission. But instead of turning down Albert with a firm voice, Norway finds himself nodding slowly as if in agreement. “Splendid. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. I’ll see you too, Mikkel.” Albert turns to Denmark with a smile.

Denmark grins and bids the other farewell as he squeezes past them to watch a race between colleagues on the cycling machines. Norway springs into action then, grabbing Denmark’s arm and gesturing him to the door with a frown on his brow. He leads him out the gymnasium and into the vestibule that separates them from outside chatter.

“A lot of promises you made back there, _Mikkel_.” Norway said. He cross his arms as Denmark scratches the back of his head and then gives him a shrug. “I must remember to polish all the medals I won once we go home.” he frowns.

“Okay, _maybe_ I was exaggeratin’ a little. 'n I shouldn’t have roped 'ya into a competition. But 'ya _are_ a great swimmer though!” Denmark points out. He watches as the other rolls his eyes and then reaches for the door. The blond was quick to follow Norway back into the entrance hall. “Look ’m sorry if this really upsets 'ya. I can ask Albert to cancel the whole thing if 'ya want.” he suggests.

“I don’t like it when you speak for me. You tend to think what’s best without my consideration.” Norway turns and jabs a finger to Denmark’s chest. He turns back to start walking down the staircase, rounding the corner before going down another flight of steps. “Now I have to be this supposed grand athlete by tomorrow afternoon.” Norway runs a hand through his hair and sighs in annoyance.

Reaching B-Deck, the blond walks over and takes a seat on one of the many blue sofas that are clustered around the entrance hall. Denmark sits down beside him, silent for a moment because he doesn’t know what else to say without agitating his friend again. “Hey, Nor, ’m sorry, honestly!” he apologizes.

Norway looks at Denmark and then shakes his head with another sigh. When he turns back to the Dane, his face has soften considerably. “Well, it’s hard to say mad, especially with the look you’re giving me.” he said.

Denmark blinks and a smile stretches across his face. “Does that mean ’m off the hook then?” he chuckles as the other playfully pushes his shoulder. “More like on thin ice.” Norway replies with a smirk.

Norway pauses for a second and then remembers the telegraph message he’d received earlier. He reaches into his pocket and pulls it out, handing it over to Denmark. The smile quickly fades from Denmark’s face as he combs over it. He turns to the blond in surprise before letting out a weary sigh.

“Things are lookin’ pretty rough are they? 'n it takes a lot to get even Sweden worried.” Denmark said.

“Tensions have been escalating; France and England are looking into ways to deterrent Germany.” Norway points out. He takes the telegraph message from Denmark’s hand and stuffs it back into his pocket. He glances around to see passengers walking about the entrance hall. “I have a bad feeling about this.” he adds after a thought or so.

“Ya don’t think there’ll be war comin’?” the Dane asks.

Norway looks at Denmark. He honestly doesn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Titanic_ ’s radio communications was leased to the White Star Line by the [Marconi Company](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marconi_Company). With [two](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_Phillips_\(wireless_officer\)) [operators](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harold_Bride), the service maintained a 24-hour schedule, primarily sending and receiving passenger telegrams, but also handling navigation messages including weather reports and ice warnings. Passenger messages were sent via tubes down to the Purser’s Office on C-Deck, which then distributed the messages to their respective recipients.
> 
> The [First Class Lounge](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/fc/1stClassLounge.jpg) was one of the most ornate public rooms on board the _Titanic_ , modeled in the Louis XV style after the Palace of Versailles. It occupied a large space mid-ship on A-Deck, offering views onto the Promenade Deck and the ocean beyond. Intricately carved English oak paneling with intermittent motifs of musical instruments were the dominant feature of the room.
> 
> The [First Class Gymnasium](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/26/Gym.jpg/800px-Gym.jpg) was located on the Boat Deck on the starboard side, adjacent to the second funnel. It contained gym equipment that were commonplace for an ocean liner of the era, such as an electric camel, rowing machines, and so on. The gymnasium was opened for men and women at different times while tickets could be purchased at the Purser’s Office for a session. [Thomas W. McCawley](http://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/titanic-victim/thomas-mccawley.html) was the gym instructor who complemented Denmark’s excellent rowing abilities.
> 
> Each deck the Grand Staircase rose through there was a rather decent-sized space labeled 'First Class Entrance’ on deck plans. It was little more than just a foyer for the staircase, with chairs and sofas clustered around the space while doors or archways lead off to First Class accommodations.
> 
> Like Henrik and Sissel, both Daisy Cashmore and Albert Smith are fictional characters, not based on real-life passengers. Daisy Cashmore in particular, is from the game [Titanic: Adventure out of Time](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Titanic:_Adventure_Out_of_Time) (all rights reserved). Daisy was included because well frankly, she’s an interesting character and I like her personality. (Heh heh)


End file.
